Love in Kingsport
by Nyte Quill
Summary: COMPLETE! Final chapter up! based on the film series. Morgan Harris' thoughts on his continuous interactions with a certain redhead... enjoy. please R&R.
1. And So It Began

From the moment he saw her, red hair like a beacon against the windswept bluffs, the details of her imagination set to paper now scattered on the winds, he had been enchanted. That he had been with Elvira Evans, at the beginning of a tender cultivation of a business relationship, should have been of more importance. True, Elvira had pointed out the redhead in distress, but still he should've known better. Instead, he had chased down an errant page and returned it to its mistress. Had she reacted with the haughty self-importance so inborn to the upper classes, he'd have stalked off with a tip of his hat and never looked back. Instead, her sweet smile and genuine _thank you_ had touched him, and he'd taken a few minutes to subtly interrogate her. Being called back to his responsibilities in more ways than one, he'd finally relinquished her and returned to his charge, determining with each step to put the titian-tressed writer out of his mind. Fate, as it turned out, had other plans.

The next time their paths had crossed had appropriately been at a crossroads. She had been driving a plain carriage with a beautiful roan lead, and he had been clearing his head behind the wheel of his automobile. Then her nature had not been sweet and quiet; she'd been outspoken and stubborn and shown the fiery independent side of herself. He had still been enchanted, had tried to convince her he could be a gentleman and offered to take her anywhere she needed. He was used to the city mentality of society girls, who were perhaps less observing of strict social proprieties, and her staunch refusal had been like a refreshing breeze. In hindsight, it was better she hadn't gone with him. Despite his assertions of gentlemanly behaviour, he would've found her far too distracting and downright tempting not to attempt at least a quick kiss beneath some convenient covered bridge on the way home.

At KLC, she'd turned out to be one of Em's instructors and her true age had come to light then. Surely she was too young for him. Whatever the social conventions said, he would be uncomfortable with a wife only a few years older than his daughter. Yet in his thoughts she remained, the constant presence in the back of his mind was like the small sore on the roof of one's mouth that caused ever-present annoyance because it could not be left alone long enough to heal. She was maddening and passionate, bold and marvelous. The insults he'd lobbed at her and his subtle machinations to remove her were despicable and entirely self serving. Out of sight out of mind was sadly not working. Morgan was beginning to feel that perhaps out of town might do the trick. Heaven forefend but his mother had been right: he wasn't acting like a man. And if he allowed himself to seriously consider a pursuit, that would have to change.


	2. Maplehurst and beyond

Her progression at Maplehurst caught him sniffing the traces of her perfume in the air, an unpleasantly familiar scent…. Adelaide's scent. Any reminder of his late wife sent him into melancholy and anything that stirred tender feelings must of course be routed. Not that his feelings were always of a tender variety. The woman was brilliant, passionate and obstinate to the point where he didn't know which he'd prefer: endless argument and debate or simply kissing her into submission. Each option had merit, and were far less prurient than others that flitted through his mind at times. Evenings involving candles and interesting alternative uses for his neckties were his favorite fantastical indulgence, which he only allowed to take the edge off a strict diet of moral uprightness and staid business.

His family adored her, to the point where extending basic courtesy and invitations to social gatherings became quite impossible once Elvira Evans returned to seal their deal. Sweet but shrewd, there was something of a hard streak in the raven-haired beauty that disliked competition and unnecessary distractions. Emmaline glowed under Anne's attention and thrilled to her presence. Anne's affectionate coaxing had drawn the child out of the nautilus she often occupied around her grandmother; she'd displayed a mature confidence with her splendid stage debut that completely dazzled him, and had walked a several feet off the ground for the week that followed. Pauline was decidedly calmer and happier when she was around, looking far closer to her actual age. Even Mother adored her as one who knew exactly how to temper debate humor, sedateness and boldness in her presence, a balance even Morgan had never learned to strike well. Indeed every encounter, from the blackmail misunderstanding (which had made Morgan roar with laughter when let it slip over an early tea) to the picnic she'd roped the Grand Dame Mrs. Harris into hosting, his mother had discovered some new aspect of Miss Shirley she found much to her liking.

It was surprising that she fit so well into his world, this woman he would never have guessed could, but she'd proved a match for him in stubbornness and intelligence and he suspired her ready affection. Their trip to Boston had so naturally included her, and each day had given a new delight. The shopping spree with Em, the outing for "fresh air" on his ship and the promise he'd name the next in her honor, even the trip to the opera. Em had tried so hard to stay awake for the special occasion, but she'd ended up sleeping between them before the final aria. Anne had looked beautiful in each setting, so naturally composed to be at his side, with his family. Her refreshingly wholesome and frank state had still fit amid the opulence and grandeur in which he existed, and had been like a zephyr of its own: a deliciously perfumed breeze wafting through his stuffy existence, making it sweet and alive again. He smiled with each thought of the effect her verve and vivacity had on him and his family.

Oh no. Inviting the delightful redhead anywhere would be quite impossible until his business was concluded. She was entirely too well liked by the Harrises and a touch too distracting to himself for it to be entirely safe.


	3. The Charity Ball

At the Ball, an event to which he dearly wished he could've escorted her, he'd noticed the fleeting glances she'd tossed his way, always striving not to be caught looking. Elvira was decked out in lavender satin, pearls diamonds and feathers adorning her already expensive beauty. Anne on the other hand resembled some wonderfully light dessert: peach colored dress against creamy skin, soft rose blush in her healthy complexion, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose looking like a delicate dusting of cinnamon, and a simple strand of pearls that matched her even white teeth when she smiled. And that hair… ginger and orange and spun burnt sugar up in a delectable confection on her head.

He dutifully paraded Elvira around the dance-floor for a few rotations, but she was not one for overexertion; her corset was too constricting and she had no wish to spoil her cosmetic-enhanced perfection, preferring instead to preen and be seen holding court with Morgan on her arm. After a while the boredom began to weigh on him and his gaze drifted to the punch table to sneak a bolstering peek at Anne, only to see it occupied by an older volunteer. Struggling for a neutral expression as he scanned the ballroom, he was momentarily stunned as she swirled by him in the arms of a young man. They chatted easily despite the music's pace, proving her natural stamina. Dance after dance a new man claimed her, a charming toy to be admired and desired and one with which everyone seemed keen to play.

With each new partner holding her close, Morgan felt his smile getting tighter until he thought his face might crack from the tension. For a solid hour she remained on the floor, until she excused herself with an elegant curtsey and allowed a kiss to her gloved hand before disappearing to the ladies' retiring room. Morgan was not by nature an excitable man, but he had reached his breaking point about 3 dances ago. By his count, the 3rd waltz of the evening was due to begin soon. Just as he'd begun to uncouple from Elvira's side, determined to claim his elusive Miss Shirley for a dance, another man had swept in and taken her over. A quick glance in his direction proved that she remembered their conversation outside the post office, and had not demurred but instead **_let_** this man have **_his_** dance. If he caught up with her he could well imagine what she'd say. If pushed about her promise (admittedly vague as it had been) she would simply state without quite meeting his eye that her card had been full all evening. He couldn't wait for the night to be over and his change to be forever gone.

He caught up with her at the top of the stairs, surprised when he saw that the heavy overcoat draped over her arm signaled her departure as plainly as her expression. Dashing back to Elvira as fast as he could, he'd explained his sudden pressing need to leave. With each step back toward the stairs, he weighed the merits of stopping for his coat against the time lost in catching her; it ended up as no contest at all. By the time he reached her, she had crossed the snow-blanketed green, a solitary figure in the cold stillness. He'd tried to stall her; she replied with a plead of exhaustion. A viable excuse, but they both knew that was all it was. The conversation had spun from light teasing to a sincere apology to a heated argument over the topic of his escort. When she tried to leave again, effectively ending their discussion, he hadn't been able to stop himself. He'd latched on with the speed of a snake, holding the now squirming schoolmarm, desperate to keep her with him until he could explain everything and turn the tide back in his favor.

A sudden shooting pain under his knee doubled him over, his grip loosened but still present on her arm, though more for support than restraint now. His proposed came out as a breathless rushed proclamation, with none of the eloquence he had intended; it was no wonder she was shocked. As he poured out his heart into the hands he now clasped between his own, he became more aware of the change in her eyes. The downside of the truly honest was an inability to completely mask their emotional states; he almost smiled as the thought she'd make a terrible poker player passed through his mind. Tenderly, he asked what was wrong, and promptly misunderstood her homesick reply. His offer expanded to include a vacation home with a smile…It wouldn't be the same, he acknowledged aloud the thought she displayed.

He felt the moment slipping but made no move to latch onto it this time, and was rewarded with a tentative smile and a hand gently laid on his arm. "I still have a waltz free." Morgan retrieved his fallen crest from the snow dusted walk and gallantly offered her his arm. "What do you say we give those old cats something to _really_ gossip about?" The laughter had a wry start, but grew to a genuine finish, mingling with hers in the still night as they strolled amiably back across the green.

Once they returned and he took her in his arms, his little schoolmistress displayed a sparkle in her eye just for him and a smile that bordered on sultry for the benefit of the matronly gawkers and snooty onlookers that ringed the floor. He relinquished her only once during the night, as Elvira claimed him for an obligatory polka and Anne took a much needed moment to quaff a glass of punch and relish a finger sandwich. Beyond that, he kept her by his side, having decided that if it was all there was to be, it would be enough.

**Author's Note: I can end the story here, but I do have a 4th chapter ready, an addendum that would end differently than the film. If anyone is interested, R&R and I'll put it up.**


	4. Wrapping Paper

Her final bit of magic before they'd retreated to their respective worlds had been to facilitate the denouement of his mother. Pauline was free to be looked after and hopefully happy, Em would be with him as he devoted himself fully to Boston business, and Anne was returning to her wholesome island home. It was as it should be, Morgan knew, but at the funeral, as the throng of mourners had begun to disperse, he had repeated his offer once again. He only dared hope with half his heart, reserving the rest in a safe deposit should she miraculously say yes, but he knew she would again refuse. They had parted ways after a promise to stay in touch with Em, and a rather sweet hope on her behalf that he "get that big house on the gulf someday." On rare occasions late at night, he would allow himself to dust off that memory and conclude it meant she hoped to see him again in the future.

His secretary had come through in style that Christmas, having located three copies of _Avonlea Vignettes _from a local seller and presenting them with flair and a tartan ribbon. Pauline had loved the souvenir of her former confidante, and Emmaline had been in raptures when she'd opened her copy. His own copy resided in the right hand desk drawer, and was frequently smuggled in his valise to keep him company on business trips, which he had learned to either keep short when possible or take Emmaline along when not. He found himself laughing over her youthful adventures, and could easily picture the freckle-faced tomboy too smart for her own good that she had been. When that train of thought led to the memory of the amazing woman she'd become, Morgan had to fight to shake the bittersweet melancholy that followed. As had been the case with Adelaide, he would not have given up knowing her, nor trade a single day of their time for peace of mind now. Each remembered smile, every entertaining encounter was worth the occasional restless night or procrastinated workday.

The wedding announcement had rocked him more than he cared to admit. Work and other factors had allowed him a perfect alibi for not taking a vacation the past few years, but his pride and heart had mended sufficiently that he thought he might withstand a chance encounter. He'd been planning a visit to her island: the sentimental bribe of a summer rental to tempt his now fashionable daughter home to visit and so win her back for awhile from her new best friends and steady stream of suitors. Anne might like to see for herself how well Em had turned out, though he knew they'd kept a regular correspondence since she'd been at her new school. His sister was also a devoted penpal, and frequently included Anne's news when she wrote to him. The letters making the arrangements and invitations were set to go out when Burton had brought the post in, yet the clipping that fluttered from Pauline's latest letter soon saw them neatly ripped in half and deposited in the waste bin. _**Canadian authoress Anne Shirley to wed childhood friend and rising surgical star Gilbert Blythe… **_He'd sent a gift with an unsigned card, belatedly realizing the Boston postmark would make it clear who'd sent the matching fountain pen sets. He had not received a thank you note, nor had he expected to.

**Author's Note: There remain after this, if anyone is interested, a few more steps into AU/AR land. A completely different ending to Anne & Morgan. You know the drill. Please R&R, and as always, enjoy.**


	5. Of Sunsets and Sympathy

**Author's Note: I know it's been an inordinately long time in coming, but I kept waffling on when and how I wanted to end this. Hope it was worth the wait. R&R and as always, enjoy.**

Three short years later, Morgan Harris stood in an anteroom of Saint Cecilia church, resisting the urge to tug on a tight but handsomely done necktie. His palms were threatening to dampen his gloves, despite the chill weather, and he raised his eyes skyward, wondering if he were the sort of man whose prayers for peace would be answered. It wasn't as though he'd never been here before; his nerves were almost unaccountable. A dutiful bridesmaid had given report that the bride was radiant and remarkably calm in an ivory lace gown, delicate chiffon veil, and twisted strands of pearls at her throat; she was ready for the ceremony to commence. Morgan drew a final breath, placed a tophat of dove grey wool on his head and headed to the church to greet the bride.

Footsteps echoing on the wooden floor almost as loudly as his beating heart, he walked his only child down the aisle to wed the man of her dreams. A handsome scientist from a prominent family, Stephen Ellerby had been a patient suitor, devoting as much time to studies and experiments as he did the pursuit of the exceedingly fashionable Miss Harris. She'd accepted his proposal at the end of this summer, and Morgan had promptly been given 4 months to finance and arrange a Christmas wedding. Stephen had undertaken the honeymoon, such as it would be: 2 weeks in Vienna, where aside from a brief presentation he would stay at his wife's side, followed by a pressured schedule to allow him the freedom to follow Emmaline when her acting troupe started its second national tour.

To the surprise of no one in the Harris family, the first had received thunderous acclaim, mostly owing to his modest daughter's tremendous acting prowess. Now adopting the thrilling role of newlywed and firmly established star on the rise, her new tour with Troupe de Force was due to set the couple up in even finer style than they resided in presently. And after a few years when they decided to start a family, they would settle Em in a permanent theatre position with limited touring engagements while Stephen continued to publish papers and do well-funded research for government agencies and private corporations. Morgan conceded it was an oddly suitable arrangement as long as Emmaline was happy and he looked forward to becoming a grandfather in good time...

Two years later, Morgan decided the too quiet house was too much for him. His first grandchild would be making their entrée to Philadelphia society at the end of the summer, but both Boston and the city in which the Ellerbys had taken residence were becoming stifling in the meantime. He called Em with his intended itinerary, inviting any family member who wished it to join him on the gulf to escape the stultifying city. Last minute travel arrangements were made, reiterated invitations cabled to the Kent and Ellerby households, and Morgan found himself onboard the _Zephyr_, having convinced the captain to detour toward Prince Edward Island.

He posted his first night at the elegant White Sands, and the following morning took possession of the rental cottage with a stunning view of the vistas. Provisions and sundries were delivered midday, and following a late afternoon luncheon, he dressed coolly and descended the whitewashed steps for a rambling stroll, allowing his mind to sift through various possible meetings and greetings.

Despite a hopeful yet pragmatic understanding of the inevitable eventuality, the actual realization that he was seeing her startled him. Her red hair was still a beacon against the windswept bluffs, and in a copy of their first meeting, he was a rescuer of escapist paper, a knight in white linen. She had been walking in a fog, not seemingly aware of anything until the paper had fluttered from her grasp. He'd managed to catch it and her eye at the same time, and she'd stopped her frantic casting about and simply stood, waiting for him to approach. As he did, his eyes scanned the rescued missive, wondering as they had all those years ago what secrets the page held. Instead of a setting down of imaginative contents, Morgan was surprised to note he held a worn telegram, creased from constant re-folding and tear-stained at several points. It had not been rendered illegible, however, and his steps slowed their progress as he noted the words **Gilbert Blythe... killed in action... Deepest sympathies... **The paper was gingerly removed from his fingers by the woman who had closed the remaining distance between them when his progress had halted altogether. His eyes sought hers as she carefully refolded the missive and placed it in her skirt pocket, only looking up when it was safely tucked away again.

Morgan used the time to study her, again reminded of the gap in their years. He had just celebrated his 40th birthday, and the woman before him was approaching her late twenties. He knew, without vanity, he still cut a dashing figure: trim from an active schedule and frequent swims, chestnut hair threaded with silver at the temples in a manner he considered distinguished, perhaps a few more wrinkles around eyes that smiled when relaxed. Anne was still stunning in her quiet fresh way, still young... unless one examined the eyes. Faint creases at the corners and shadowed smudges beneath betrayed grief, and lent a borrowed air of maturity one saw in truly loving widows. She was still youthful and beautiful and probably adept at masking the changes, but still too young to look like that.

"Now this is a surprise. It's a pleasure to see you again, Captain Harris." Her tone was light, blandly conversational, and he silently agreed to the terms by responding in a similar manner. "Indeed it is, Mis-" He broke off, realizing his uncertainty as to which name he should use to address her. She had been Miss Shirley in their time, but was supposed to be Mrs. Blythe now; neither name seemed appropriate for this reunion, and he cleared his throat before picking up the introductory thread. "I hope I may offset the custom a little and call you Anne. We were friends, after all." _Were we, indeed?_ her eyes seemed to query, but she acquiesced and agreed when he proposed a walk to the shore.

It began with trivialities about the weather, and segued to the pronouncement of the Ellerys and Kents' hopefully imminent arrival. Banter began to flow more easily between them as they ambled along, and upon reaching a vantage point Anne deemed suitable. he divested himself of his coat, laying it on the ground to shield her as they sat to watch the sunset. Leaning back to brace his weight on one hand, he drew up one leg and languidly draped a wrist over the bent knee. The sense of ease he'd always felt around her lent itself to the pleasantly mild surroundings, and he released a contented sigh.

He regaled her with news of Em's most recent bout of nesting behavior; she'd wallpapered the nursery in ducks, rabbits and carousel horses by turn, and had sent a dutiful Stephen to six separate toy stores looking for just the right teddy bear. "He suggested green for the nursery and she nearly burst something; I know there's no way of knowing but she's convinced it's going to be a girl." Something in his tone belied the intentional arrest of his speech, and Anne beseeched him to continue whatever he'd been about to say. "I'm not sure I should tell you this, as it's probably pending in a letter from herself, but I think she wants a girl because she's decided on Anne Margaret Ellerby for a name, after you and Mother."

His gaze had been itinerant, cycling between her face and the shoreline, but it swung fully to rest on her after hearing a muffled sob. Their relationship being as it was, he hesitated a moment before gathering her into his arms and letting her dampen the front of his lawn shirt with her tears. When she'd recovered sufficiently, bracing herself away with a soft hand on his chest, he released her and passed her a handkerchief to dab away any lingering moisture. Once composed, she gave a final sniff and set her chin up a few degrees, as though resolving to herself not to break down again. She made to return the used handkerchief, but his fingers closed around her hand, trapping the dewy cloth between them. The startled gaze she flicked him was met with an open and frank expression, warmth and sympathy visible in his questioning eyes.

"Tell me what happened." Anne drew a breath, closing her eyes for a moment before she exhaled, then related the events of the past few years to the earnestly listening man beside her. She told him about the simple country wedding (Diana as matron of honor, Marilla giving her away, the amethyst broach as her "something borrowed", and toasts of raspberry cordial), the 2 glorious uninterrupted years of marriage they'd had before he'd received the summons to the Army Medical Corps. The fight when expedited orders to report just after Thanksgiving arrived; the tender reconciliation the night before his train. The miscarriage she'd suffered when the news that his resident post in the treatment hospital was being exchanged for field surgeon at aid stations near the front came the following April. The weeks of anguished uncertainty when his letters had stopped in October; the prayers that had gone unanswered when the telegram had arrived from the War Office the week before Christmas. The quiet interment in the frozen Avonlea churchyard, the rage she'd suppressed at the award given "on behalf of a grateful nation."

She concluded the narrative somewhat abruptly, and in the fading light he saw that her eyes were swimming in fresh tears. Relinquishing her hand, he watched the few that silently fell before she once again gathered the scattered pieces of herself and re-stored them with a light shiver. "I don't know about you, but I could use a cup of tea. The evenings grow cool so quickly on the coast." Standing with only a slight protesting stiffness, he offered down a hand and helped her to her feet, not immediately releasing her once the task was complete. "Tea would be lovely, if you have no objections to joining me. I think my cottage is a bit nearer than that Green Gables of yours." A soft chuckle was her only initial reply, but she followed it with, "Very well, so long as you'll join me for lunch there tomorrow. I seem to recall your fondness for peach cobblers."

Offering her his arm, he declared it a date, and set off in the direction of the home lights burning in the distance. Morgan didn't know if they would have anything more than this brief visit, but resigned himself that if it was all they had, it would be enough.

Fate, as it turned out, had other plans.


End file.
